


A sad, lonesome-voiced Hallelujah

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Complex relationships, Daddy Issues, Erik is a Father, Father-Son Relationship, Inspired by Music, Jewish Character, Yiddish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: This is utterly self-indulgent, but I care not!Erik Lehnsherr, while visiting Wanda, comes across Pietro as he plays and sings in a language Erik never knew Pietro would speak.





	A sad, lonesome-voiced Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Yiddish translation & performance of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/299769) by Daniel Kahn. 



> Hover for translations. :)

Erik stops in the corridor, utterly silent: his boots make not the slightest sound on the cool, marble floors of the Avengers Tower, where had been meeting with Wanda. His helmet is carefully placed upon his head, ensuring that no telepath might read his thoughts, but the children that pass him in the corridor don’t seem to be at all deterred by the helmeted, imposing figure of Magneto. He even smiles at them, and they smile back.

Now, however, he doesn’t hear the children laughing or running – he hears the sound of music, slightly distant, and familiar.

Erik takes a few steps down the corridor, careful not to make any sound, and he sees a door that is an inch ajar. He carefully slides it a little more open, and its well-oiled pieces don’t creak: Tony Stark might be a lot of things, but he’s a good architect, and a better engineer.

Erik has sung in his time, but he has never been a musician.

He recognizes the chords and the tune, however, and yet it takes him some time to recognize Leonard Cohen’s _Hallelujah_.

And yet…

Pietro’s head is bent over the piano, his eyes closed as his fingers move over the keys, his body swaying slightly with his own music. “Zol zayn mayn got iz gor nishto… [Un libe zol sayn kol-mumro]()—” Pietro’s singing voice is rough and husky, and what strikes Erik isn’t that his son can sing, or that he can play such an instrument with such apparent finesse…

But Yiddish? When has his son ever spoken Yiddish, or Hebrew, or even German, without being under duress? When has his son ever taken to poetry?

The sound of the music washes over Erik, making his every hair stand on end, and he stands stock still, barely daring to do so much as breathe. Pietro's fingers continue to move with such nimble ease over the piano's white and black keys, as if he's singing with them as much as his voice, and in Erik's chest, heavy and slightly cold, he feels a weight.

"An apikoyres rufstu mikh," Pietro's voice is suddenly softer, sweeter. "Mit shem-havaye lester ikh, Iz meyle, ikh dervart nisht keyn geule." Pietro sighs softly, and as he continues, Erik takes a step forwards, unable to stop himself. Pietro stiffens, but he doesn't stop, and his eyes remain tightly closed. The  _hallelujahs_ roll from his tongue with a practised ease, and Erik cannot help himself, cannot help but wonder - do they come from a place of faith, or not?

There are tears in Erik's eyes, and he allows them to roll down his face.

"I asked that no one disturb me when I play in here," Pietro says. His eyes are open, but he focuses resolutely on the book of music he hadn't needed to play. There it is - Pietro's English, designed with his biting, Mid-West accent, a thing of complete fabrication with none of the easy music of his roots in it. Erik remembers how much it had struck him, when he had met the boy again, once he was a man, and how his speech had cut Erik like a knife. Wanda's voice might be softer, but one can trace her beginnings from it. "There's a sign on the door."

Erik feels that if he speaks, his voice will crack: he feels the sob on his tongue, now, and so he says nothing.

He steps forwards, slowly, but his boots make such noise on the floor. His hand rests on Pietro's strong, broad shoulder, and he feels the pulse of his heart under his fingers - Pietro's heart beats like that of a bird, and Erik knows he could never hope to count its beats. Pietro glances at the fingers, perplexity showing on his features, and then he looks up at Erik, his grey eyes showing his confusion--

And then his upset.

"Father," Pietro says, too surprised to show real anger.

"That was beautiful, my son," Erik whispers. "Sheyn vi di zibn veltn _."_ The tears shining on his cheeks embarrass him, but Pietro seems too shocked to say a word: Erik squeezes his shoulder, takes in a breath, and turns on his heel to leave.

He and Pietro have been beyond talking for decades, now, and he knows he cannot settle and chat with him as he can with Wanda, and yet... Yet he feels a certain warmth, now.

\---

Pietro sits, for the longest time, at the piano, with his fingers frozen on the keys, still poised for the A Minor chord.

He sits there until the sun goes down, and Wanda, worried for his absence, comes looking for him. He doesn't speak a word that night, and when he finally settles, at around four, to sleep, he finds he is too overwhelmed to actually cry.


End file.
